Chapter Text
Aziraphale wandered around the bookstore amazed that even after the Notpocalypse, being burned down and rebuilt by Adam, it still somehow felt like the store he opened all those years ago. The shelves of books carefully organised, original copies and tomes long thought lost by the rest of the world all side by side with newer texts, all original prints. All of them basking in their places, loved by the doting angel. The brisk wind outside swirls leaves and a lone lost newspaper page past the window. The sight brings an involuntary shiver and he wraps a warm blanket around his shoulders, snuggling into the softness as it envelopes his figure.
A warm drink and a book. That’s what is perfect for today. Now where did my cocoa go to?
With the prospect of warmth found in a book and a well-made cup of hot cocoa, Aziraphale moves to the back room to find the kettle, which had been replaced with a new electric model.
Something caught his eyes as Aziraphale sat down in his reading chair, placing the now steaming cup of hot cocoa on the side table next to his last slice of pumpkin pie. While the lovely sight of a perfect night in was enough to have his mind wandering into hopeful fantasy, one small thing drew him out.
It was a book.
Not that that in its self is anything unusual given that it was a bookstore and most of the items within were in fact books. The dark leather binding was also so similar to the older volumes that there shouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary with it. But still, something was different. Perhaps it was the lack of title, or the crimson red ribbon page marker, but something, something about this book drew Aziraphale to it like a magnet.
The hot cocoa now forgotten and his first edition of Chaucer’s works with the unedited version of The Canterbury Tales resting closed Aziraphale picked up the book. Slowly, almost reverently and turned back the black leather-bound cover looking for any hint to the author’s name or a title. Instead, there on the first page was a hand penned poem. No date, or any indication as to the author. Just an elegant curling script:
The first day I laid eyes on you
I knew my heart was gone
Mirth and love lay all about
Whenever you came round
The rain that first upon us fell
Brought with it your first frown
Even in the thoughtful state
I never had my doubts.
But there was no hope, for us, as I was doomed
And with that fall, my love was silenced.
For I can no longer keep you from their grasp,
And slowly you are being broken.
I see you still
From my dark corner
The light you carried, though dim, is still within
Might I hope to be the needed spark?
I should never have allowed myself to have fallen.
For I may have lost it all
I’m so sorry, my heart, my love,
My -----
The page ended abruptly. A blotch of smudged ink blurring out the last line of the writing. And the author not signing off but seeming to have just left, without leaving any trace of who they were.
Aziraphale took a deep breath and quickly thumbed through the other pages as carefully as he could. Most of them were filled with the same curling script. Others were blacked out. Ink crossing through the pages erasing any trace of what was written before.
Perhaps something they wanted forgotten? But such a shame to erase a memory. One can always learn from another’s musings, even the worst writing has meaning to someone.
There were plenty of blank pages at the back of the book, only about a quarter of it remained untouched by the curling ink, and they seemed to almost be waiting for the return of the writer. As if, the author is bound to come back and pick up exactly where they had left off. Such a strange thing, a book waiting for the author to fill its pages, but that is what it felt like to the curious angel.
The sound of the telephone jolts him from his musings and Aziraphale moves to pick it up before his answering machine.
“Hello? You have reached A. Z. Fell and Co -.”
“Hullo Angel, is that really how you answer the phone here? Sounds like a bloody answering machine.”
“Oh Crowley! So good to hear your voice.”
“Come now Angel, enough with the pleasantries. You’ll give me a cavity. Now listen here, Newt and Anathema want us to visit this Saturday and since I have my car, and you probably still don’t drive, figured I’d check to see if you want a lift.”
“That sounds absolutely lovely. A drive into the country with you, we haven’t been that way since –”
“Yes, yes, since the world nearly ended I know. Okay, I’ll see you then.”
“Oh, yes, alright. Bye Crowley, see you then.”
“Bye Angel.”